


For the Best (My Church Offers No Absolutes Remix)

by Netgirl_y2k



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Gen, Minor Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Multi, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 03:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11820468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/pseuds/Netgirl_y2k
Summary: What's a Queen without her King?Well, historically, better.





	For the Best (My Church Offers No Absolutes Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [For the Best](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4606023) by [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin). 



_i._

The gardens surrounding the castle of Highgarden bloomed wildly; the trees bore leaves in all shades of green, and heaved with fruit. In the middle of all this fecundity stood the stark, dead Heart Tree in the centre of what had once been the Godswood; with it's gnarled trunk and wide boughs it had been a climbing temptation for generations of Tyrell children. 

Margaery twitched her skirt free where it had snagged on a twig, arranged herself prettily in the fork of two branches, and surveyed her loyal subjects: two of her three brothers. 

"Loras," she commanded, "you'll be--"

"Can I be the dragonknight?"

"If you want," Margaery agreed, "but I'm not playing Queen Naerys." 

Playing Queen Naerys was _boring_.

"Willas, you'll be the dragon."

Willas had been a squire in service for years, and soon he was to win his spurs by riding in a tourney in King's Landing, and although he was even older than Garlan he didn't consider himself above playing with his two youngest siblings. He was Margaery's second favourite brother. 

Willas smiled indulgently, and hunched over as though he had a twisted back and legs. He let out a roar, making Margaery giggle.

"Now, Loras, you have to save me from the dragon--"

"Halt, foul beast!" cried Loras, swinging a wooden sword at the dragon, which lumbered out of the way, roaring all the while. 

Margaery reached into her skirts and pulled out the handkerchief into which she'd wrapped handfuls of overripe berries before climbing the tree. She took aim and started flicking her weapons at the dragon, and if some of them hit the dragonknight, well, that couldn't be avoided. 

After the dragon had been vanquished and the game was over, Willas held his arms out and Margaery jumped down into them. 

"If not Queen Naerys, little rose, who do you like to play at being?"

Margaery pursed her lips, thinking seriously. She remembered her history lessons with Maester Lomys and Septa Nysterica, and her rather more interesting lessons with Grandmother.

"Visenya," pouted Loras, as he picked berry seeds from his fair curls.

"Good Queen Alysanne," Margaery declared. "The smallfolk loved her."

"That they did," said Willas, ruffling her hair.

"And she had a dragon."

 

_ii._

It had been many years since Margaery and her brothers had played monsters-and-maidens in the abandoned Godswood, but she had been dispatched to find Loras so that he could be feasted before he was sent off to squire for the young lord of Storm's End, and this was the last place she could think of to look.

"Will you miss me when you go off to be fancy knight?"

Margaery didn't recognise the voice when first she first heard it. She ducked behind the shrubbery and peered through the foliage; the voice belonged to Maethew Meadows, a squire who had done well in Garlan's service not least because he spared little time for flirting with the maidens of Highgarden. 

"You know I will," said Loras gently, leaning forward to kiss the other squire on the lips. 

Loras didn't pull back and nor did Meadows; Margaery knew that she ought to return to the castle, say that she had been unable to locate Loras, and leave the two boys their farewell. But instead she stood rooted to the spot as their kisses became more heated.

Loras' back was to Margaery and she watched, breathless, as Meadows tugged his shirt from his breeches to touch his skin. Something not unlike envy roiled in Margaery's belly.

She heard their ragged breathing as the kiss broke, and heard Meadows' sharp, desperate intake of air. She stepped out into the clearing beneath the Godswood trees. 

"Hello, gentlemen," she said sunnily.

At least one of the boys yelped. Loras tugged down his shirt, Meadows doubled over, crossed his legs, and attempted to lace up his breeches all at once. 

"I wish you good fortune at Storm's End, my lord," he said to Loras, before crab walking awkwardly out of the clearing.

"Margaery--" Loras implored, wide-eyed.

"I knew," Margaery lied, because she liked few things better than to appear clever to her brothers. "I knew even before I saw anything today."

She despaired to see Loras, a Tyrell of Highgarden and her brother, cringe like a kicked hound. "Is it obvious to everyone, then?"

Margaery pushed Loras' fair hair back from his face. "To some, mayhap." she cupped his cheek. "To Father, certainly not. To Mother and Garlan, I doubt it. To Grandmother and Willas..." Margaery trailed off with a dainty, one-shouldered shrug. 

"Oh, Gods..."

"Go to Storm's End and come home a great knight," she advised. "No one will dare say anything, and if they do--" Margaery smiled sweetly, viciously "--they will have to answer to me."

*

With her favourite playmate far away in Storm's End Margaery had to find other ways to keep herself amused.

The Durwells were a minor House sworn to Highgarden, and pleased to have their only daughter fostered as one of Lady Margaery's companions.

Daensa Durwell was quiet girl with a smattering of freckles across her nose. One of her front teeth had been knocked a little forward in a childhood fall, and now bit into her plump bottom lip whenever she smiled at Margaery, and she smiled at Margaery a lot, especially when Margaery would make excuses to touch her, on the arm, at her waist, on her hip. 

Margaery had long since outgrown the games of her childhood with Loras, but the fact that few in Highgarden even knew that they'd once had a Godswood made this the perfect place for kissing games.

Margaery and Daensa were facing one another beneath the Heart Tree.

Margaery brushed the other girl's hair away from her face; she pressed a kiss to the soft skin beneath her ear, to her cheek, and then to her lips.

Daensa tightened her grip on Margaery's waist and opened her mouth under Margaery's. 

_Oh_ , Margaery thought. 

Ever since she and Loras had been babes-in-arms visitors to Highgarden had commented on how alike they were, almost twins. But it seemed that for all the ways they were alike, _this_ was not one of them.

Margaery broke the kiss. 

Daensa blinked owlishly. "Did I... did I do something wrong?"

Margaery smiled kindly. "No, sweet girl, you did nothing." She rose and held her hand out to the other girl. "Come, let us go back to the castle. People will be looking for us by now."

*

Margaery had delighted in helping plan Garlan's wedding to Leonette Fossoway, not least because Loras had written to say that he would be visiting for the happy occasion. 

She had delighted in Allard, a Green Apple Fossoway and distant cousin of Lady Leonette, who was part of the Fossoway retinue. Mostly she had delighted in the way that he would do anything Margaery asked of him in return for a mere smile.

She was so pleased with her new plaything that she had even brought him to the half-forgotten Godswood.

Allard kissed sloppily and Margaery didn't particularly enjoy it, but at her request he'd swum the breadth of the Mander and stolen a cask of fine Arbour Gold that Paxter Redwyne had meant as a gift for the newlyweds, so she judged that he'd earned a small reward. 

Margaery's back was to the Heart Tree, and Allard was pressed against her. The bark was catching at her gown and tangling her hair; she turned her face from Allard's, giggling girlishly.

"We should return to the wedding party."

"Not yet." Allard pressed his hot mouth to her turned cheek, fisted her skirts in his hands, and tried to yank them upwards.

"Allard," Margery said, pushing playfully at his shoulders. He didn't yield at all. " _Allard_." She pushed harder. "Someone will see."

Allard's dimpled grin turned sour. "You told me yourself, _Lady_ Margaery, no one comes here." 

_Loras_ , Margaery prayed fiercely, though Loras was as likely to hear her in Storm's End as the Old Gods were through this stupid tree."

"Margaery, where are you? Grandmother sent me to--"

It wasn't Loras, but it was the next best thing. Willas limped into the clearing leaning heavily on his cane. 

Allard jumped backwards. "We were just--!"

Willas looked at Margaery's disheveled gown, and the stricken expression that she was too grateful to wipe off her face.

"I can see what you were just." Willas' knuckles on his cane were white with fury. "Leave us." 

Even before his accident Willas had been more scholar than fighter, but he still had broad shoulders and well-muscled arms from all those years Father had made him train daily with sword and shield, he also stood a full head taller than Allard. The youth looked up at him, and bolted from the clearing. 

Margaery looked pleadingly at her brother. "Promise you won't tell Loras." 

Margaery never could bear to appear weak or foolish to Loras.

He promised, and gathered Margaery close to chest; Willas always could understand without being told. 

He was also, however, Grandmother's loyal spy.

The next morning at breakfast the Queen of Thorns was unusually solicitous of Margaery. She took her granddaughter's face in her hands and said, "There are other ways to control men than leading them around by what's between their legs. Let's leave that to your brother for the moment, shall we?"

Margaery learned what Grandmother meant when she found out what had happened to Allard: when faced with potentially losing a marriage to the Tyrells the Fossoways had discovered they had very few qualms about having a distant cousin hogtied and sent to the Wall in the middle of the night.

 

_iii._

"Renly is almost as handsome as you described when you were last here," Margaery said when she and Loras' had strolled, arm in arm, so far as the Godswood, where they could speak of such things away from prying ears.

" _Almost?_ " said Loras, drawing himself up with mock affront. 

"A well-made face is not the first thing I look for in a man, beloved brother."

"What is it you look for, sister dear?"

Margaery had been giving much thought to her future of late; nothing she'd heard of Edmure Tully, Quentyn Martell, or the Stark boy whose name she could never remember appealed to her. 

She shrugged carelessly at her brother's question. "A crown."

Loras stopped in the middle of the clearing, his laugh bright and merry.

"Mayhap you ought to come to King's Landing with us." Loras and Renly had stopped at Highgarden on their way to the capital where Lord Renly would be taking up a seat on his brother's Small Council. "I hear that there's a king there."

"A king with a wife."

_And a dozen bastards, at least._

"No, listen." Loras took Margaery's hands in his own, his eyes shining with inspiration. Margaery hated to think it, but he looked not unlike their Father whenever Lord Mace believed himself to have had a brilliant idea. 

"Renly says that Robert has little love for Cersei Lannister, that he pines for his first love, Lyanna Stark, a dark haired maiden of six-and-ten. He thinks that if we show Robert your portrait--"

Margaery managed to smother her laugh, she had no wish too hurt her brother's feelings, or insult the wits of his love, but _honestly_. 

Many men came to care little for their wives, that was why the laws of gods and men made it all but impossible for a husband, king or commoner, to set his lawful wife aside. 

This scheme told Margaery more about Renly Baratheon than his fulsome courtesies upon his arrival yesterday: pretty face, empty head. He and Loras truly were a match, she thought fondly... but they were in need someone to take them in hand.

Margaery jabbed her forefinger into her brother's chest. " _That's_ why you wished me to sit for a miniature! You know, I didn't believe you for a second when you said you'd forgotten what I looked like."

Loras reached up and toyed with a loose curl of Margaery's. "Have you ever considered darkening your hair?"

"I will _instruct_ the miniaturist to paint it darker." 

Loras beamed. "You'll do it, then?"

It would come to nothing, and if it made Loras happy to go along with Renly's go-nowhere scheme, then there was no harm in it.

"Anything for you, brother dear."

 

 _iv._

Renly Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, dressed in all his finery was not hard to look upon, making it that much easier for Margaery to play the doting bride-to-be.

She'd taken the king's arm, whispered what would appear to onlookers as sweet nothings into his ear, and led him from their betrothal feast.

"Won't we be missed?" he asked.

"I should hope so," Margaery replied. "If people think that you cannot wait for our wedding night then it will spare us uncomfortable questions later."

"Won't Loras miss us?"

"Loras is in his cups, talking about different kinds of lances with Horror and Slobber Redwyne. He won't even notice we've gone," Margaery lied easily.  
Loras had met Margaery's eyes as she led his lover out into the moonlit gardens; he'd given her a small, brave nod. 

Certain that they were out of sight of their guests Margaery released Renly's arm and walked in the direction of the Godswood, the king falling into step beside her.

In the dark of the night the Godswood could send a chill up your spine, and it seemed to be having an effect on Renly, but perhaps his visible discomfort came from being alone with Margaery.

"This was Loras' favourite place when we were children. We used to play here together."

"I know," said Renly, a smile in his voice. "Loras spoke a lot about Highgarden, about you especially, when he first came to me."

"I found him sulking here earlier today."

"Sulking?"

"Brooding, then. Is that more manly? I believe he wished that this was your betrothal feast. Yours and his, I mean."

"I wish that, too." Those were the most sincere words Margaery had ever heard Renly speak.

"I would have made it so, if I could. I see how my brother loves you and how you love him, and I have no wish to get in the way. Although I may need to borrow his sword arm from time to time, should my honour be in need of defending."

Margaery had heard the song that some of the Reach's more bawdy bards were popularising. _The King, The Queen, and the Kingsguard._ It was more helpful to them than not at the moment because the insinuations it was making were all wrong, but it would have to be dealt with sooner or later.

"If it is Loras' arm that you want, then what would you have of me?"

"Your ear," said Margaery. "I assume that after I provide you with an heir you will have no more need of my body--" Renly visibly shuddered, and once again Margaery wondered if she was the only one who had fully thought this through "--but you may find you still have need of my mind, if you are willing to listen to my advice."

"Are you saying you wish to be my Hand, Lady Margaery?" said Renly, sounding pleased with his jape.

Margaery laughed a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "No, of course not. Well, not officially, not at first."

She calculated how much time had passed since they had left the feast; long enough for Renly to appear the lusty groom, brief enough for Margaery to make a believable claim to still have her virtue.

"Come, Your Grace," she said, "we must be getting back, and if you could see your way to leer after one or two my maiden cousins before retiring to Loras' chambers then that would be most helpful." 

 

_v._

Margaery sat alone in Highgarden's Godswood. 

After Renly's death his armies had retreated back to the seat of Tyrell power.

In her hand was a wrap of a Dornish spice that Margaery had snatched from a little used pantry in the kitchens. She was rather allergic to it, and all she needs do was open the wrap and inhale for her nose to run and her eyes to grow red and puffy, making it appear as though she'd been in here weeping for her poor, murdered husband. 

Poor Loras, who had been truly bereaved, could not weep openly. All he could do was take to the training yard where he'd broken the arm of one sparring partner and the knee of another. 

Margaery heard the crunch of footsteps on fallen leaves, and reached for her wrap of spice.

"Margaery," said Lady Olenna, stepping into the clearing, "there you are."

Margaery rose, standing before the Heart Tree. "Grandmother. I didn't know you knew about this place."

"Why wouldn't I? My grandchildren spent so much time here that at times it felt like I was raising a litter of direwolves."

"We liked to climb the tree when we were small."

"And later to have assignations with people you weren't going to marry, and to have--" Lady Olenna scowled and looked back into the trees. "Well, stop lurking about like a pervert and come out of there, man." 

A tall, thin nobleman with an inadvisable beard emerged. "Lady Margaery, I imagine you and your brothers appreciated this clearing as a place to have private conversations. After all, even if the Old Gods are listening, they are far less likely to repeat what they have heard than Septons and Septas."

Margaery looked to her Grandmother. "Who is this man?"

"This is Lord Petyr Baelish of King's Landing, and he has come to meet with your father." Lady Olenna made a face as though she'd just swallowed a wasp. "Apparently they've had an _idea_. May the Gods preserve us all."


End file.
